i don't want to die (but i quite like heaven)
by Meocaroba
Summary: Between worrying about her best friend and stealing a rich lady's diamonds, Hotaru Imai doesn't expect to have time for make-out sessions with a stranger. But as it turns out, life surprises you. / HxL, Part 1 in the GA-crew!verse
1. Chapter 1

**_i don't want to die (but i quite like heaven)_**

* * *

 _ **A/N:** If everything goes right, this is going to be a two-shot set in my newest favorite AU. What's that AU called? I have no idea. Let's just say it features mercenaries, freelance stealing, and people trying to shoot each other. Oh, that and HxL. Because this author loves HxL. Have fun reading!_

* * *

The moment Hotaru Imai goes to sleep in the evening, she has the entire next week planned out in her head. Some operatives learn to keep their schedule in check during their first week on the job, others don't. Then again, those operatives rarely ever make it into their second one. Mikan is different, sure, but then Mikan has always had remarkable instincts.

Hotaru doesn't belong to either category. No one's ever had to teach her how to strategize, she was born knowing how. Perhaps that's the reason she's one of the best at what she does.

Still, there are some events that are entirely out of her control, one of them being that time her best friend fell in love with The Black freaking Cat and decided to leave their longtime crew to break into apartments and get her hands bloody with a group of perfect strangers Hotaru has never met.

The other is, of course, that one time she ends up making out with a stranger in a bathroom.

(But like most unexpected things that happen to Hotaru Imai, that might just be what she planned all along.)

* * *

The ballroom is entirely too opulent for Hotaru's liking. She's always had an appreciation for art and fine dining, and the lilac satin of her dress is as familiar to her as the weight of the gun strapped to her leg. But this event has transcended opulence, outshot luxury and landed squarely in the realm of wastefulness.

No wonder that the people dancing waltz at this gala are the same ones who would hire mercenaries. She doesn't quite know what Lord James Blake wants with Lady Michelle's diamonds, but here she is anyway, plotting to steal from the hostess of the very ball she is attending. Ah, the things a girl does to make money and keep her job.

Normally, an event like this wouldn't be Hotaru's domain. It takes a certain kind of person to infiltrate the rich and powerful, to outsmart and outgun them, to take what is theirs from beneath their noses. It takes someone like Mikan, who can slip into a role as though it's a glove - snugly and easily, almost effortless.

In Hotaru's opinion, her own style is much too blunt. But apparently, no one cares about her opinion. Her superiors certainly don't, and once again she wonders whether this crew is truly right for her or whether she's simply staying because it's the safest option. In a world of killers and thieves, safety is a rare good. It is, in many ways, more precious than gold, and if there is one thing Hotaru knows, then it is how to hold on to what is precious - well, except in Mikan's case. Perhaps loved ones are the exception to the rule.

Her comms buzz in her ears and she notes the disturbance in the sound with quiet irritation. The system is brand new, she built it less than a week ago. To have her own invention malfunction like this makes her already annoying evening look even worse.

"Come in, Imai Imai. Imaiiii-,"

"I'm here," she cuts in. "And I know what to do. Which means you're either needlessly distracting me from this mission or you have a damn good reason to talk to me. For your sake, I hope it's the former."

"Hotaru, you're always so mean," Hayate sulks in her ear. "I just wanted to wish you a nice evening. It's too bad I didn't get to come along."

"Yes, too bad," Hotaru says, sarcasm lacing her voice. Scratch every bad thing she's thought about this mission - it's a birthday party compared to an evening spend with Hayate, who apparently doesn't shut up unless you throw him down a staircase. Well, maybe not a birthday party, she hates those. An evening in her lab, tinkering with her tools, Mikan watching Netflix on the couch. Something like that. She shakes her head.

"Anything else?"

"Nope," Hayate says. "Remember: She'll take off the diamond earrings and put them in the safe around midnight, to change her outfit. That's when you strike. Don't get too drunk! Oh and," his voice grows hushed, "don't fail either. I hear they're watching you closely because of the whole thing with Sakura."

"Noted," Hotaru replies, before reaching up and shutting down the comms. No need to risk anymore annoying buzzing sounds - regardless whether their source is the comm system or Hayate's idle chatter.

As she steps away from the bar, people start swaying to the music. Hotaru frowns. Thank god she's not here to mingle, because walking in her floor length gown is already hard enough, no need to add ballroom dancing to the list of difficult things she has to accomplish tonight. It's far better to go over her plan again, perhaps walk the length of the floor, and then settle back down at the bar. A few glasses of Martini, one small heist and later a Skype call to her best friend - truly, a piece of cake.

Hotaru starts walking, careful to steer away from the dance floor. Just as she leaves, a stranger arrives, sliding into her now vacant spot. She makes it two meters before he calls out to her.

"Is the Martini here any good?,"

Hotaru doesn't pause in her step.

"I wouldn't know," she answers, leaving the bar behind her for good. Between the music and the talking, the stranger's answer is drowned out. Hotaru doesn't care.

When she returns from her casual intel gathering (there's two staircases leading to the safe, around fifteen guards assigned to the hostess alone and about two hundred useless waiters trying to get her drunk on champagne), the stranger is still there. The glass in front of him is empty and he is turning it around in his hand. It's a nice hand, Hotaru thinks. A nice back, too. She isn't necessarily looking for social interaction tonight, but maybe an encounter at the bar isn't too much for her introvert heart.

Hotaru sits down next to the stranger, signaling the waiter with one hand.

"So," she asks. "Is the Martini here any good?"

It makes him laugh. When he turns to meet her gaze, Hotaru quietly adds "nice laugh" to the her of his features.

"It's passable. Besides, it's free. Beggars can't be chosers, right?," he says, winking at her when the barkeeper throws him a dirty look. It almost makes her smile.

"I'm no beggar," she tells him, before placing her order.

Once she's done, Hotaru turns around to properly look at the man in front of her. Blue eyes, blond hair, a steady gaze and a quick smile. His cheeks are flushed, probably from the alcohol, but he doesn't seem to mind, nor is he trying to hide the way his eyes ghost over her, from her lips to her neck before stopping to return to her face. _A gentleman_ , she notes. She almost wishes he'd keep staring.

"So tell me," he says after Hotaru's drink is in her hand and the first few sips are down her throat, effectively dampening her dislike for social interaction. "What's your name?"

"A lady never tells," Hotaru answers him smoothly, taking another deep sip. He's right - the Martini sucks.

"You know, I'm pretty sure they only say that about age."

"I say it about everything. Besides, gentlemen first."

"Gentlemen first,?" he repeats, an amused glint in his eyes. Hotaru shrugs.

"I'm feeling wild tonight. Let's smash those gender expectations."

There's that laugh again. In her business, you rarely get to hear something carefree like that. It...pleases her to see that her jokes are landing, because it means that she's good at what she does - she can entice and enchant with the best of them. And it pleases her because...well. It _is_ a nice laugh.

"I'm Luca," he says. "Luca Nogi. Lovely to meet you, Miss…?"

"Philberta," Hotaru says. Luca raises his brows.

"That's the best fake name you could come up with?"

"Usually guys leave me alone once I give it to them," she tells him. "Which is the desired outcome."

"Wow. You wound me, Milady. Tell you what," Luca says, looking excited. "I'll just try and guess your name."

She rolls her eyes, leaning back against the bar.

"You've had too many Martinis."

"Is it Josephine? Dolores? Candis? Belle?"

Hotaru frowns at the last one. "Beautiful One? Really?"

"It works sometimes," he explains to her with a grin.

"You suck at flirting."

"Maybe," Luca laughs, picking up an olive from the snack tray and biting into it. The barkeeper comes to take away their empty glasses, shooting her companion a discreet dirty look over his shoulder.

For a while, they sit in silence. There's still time until she has to strike and the atmosphere is lovely - vases filled with orchids decorate the venue, the marble floor gleams in the light of the chandeliers. Soft violins and a piano ring out from the band, beckoning her to throw away her inhibitions and visit the dance floor just once that evening. But she is alone.

Well, not _all_ alone, there is Luca, but she's never been one to ask, not for a dance, not for anything. Civilians don't make for good partners - not when you're a freelancer with a gun under your dress. Just when it seems as though her night will be spend at the bar, he offers her his hand.

"So, Tabitha," Luca asks. "Care to dance?"

* * *

The dance floor is crowded. A different person wouldn't be able to navigate its ocean of chiffon dresses, blues and reds and greens, a whole rainbow of fabric. A different person wouldn't be able to keep her eyes both on the hostess and on the time, while simultaneously dancing with a stranger. But she is Hotaru Imai and she does it with ease. Her partner for the night doesn't notice her wavering attention. Luca seems content just to hold her - and he does it well, too.

Hotaru knows how to dance. It's something you learn: Count the beats, count your steps. A simple math problem that can transform an operative like her into the grand dame of any ball. Rarely ever does dancing move her in the way Mikan insists it is meant to move people: body and soul, a quiet moment of insanity hidden by music.

Hotaru has no time for insanity on her schedule, but she does remember one instance where dancing felt like more than a tool: Her birthday when she was sixteen. They'd been training all day, her and Mikan, in their tiny apartment, back when there were no crews, just the two of them. Her best friend had opened a window to let the cool air caress their sweaty skin and there had been music in the air - Elvis or something. Suddenly, their kicks and punches and martial art stances had felt like a dance. Mikan had laughed. It was a good training, and an even better birthday.

This dance right now is different, and yet the same. Usually, there is a wall between her and normal citizens like Luca. Hell, there is a wall between her and other operatives. It doesn't make sense to grow attached to the uncontrollable element of your life - the uncontrollable element that is, of course, other humans. Aside from Mikan, there is nothing that touches Hotaru, simply because there is nothing that can get close enough to try.

And in many ways, this man right here isn't close enough to try: He's just some good-looking rich guy attending a ball. He's one of many men she has danced with over the years. He is nothing to her.

But, but, but. Luca's thumb is tracing her skin, hovering over the seam of her backless dress. All this time, she has been gathering information and hiding it - hiding the way her eyes keep wandering to find more bodyguards, hiding the way she checks his suit to figure out the brand, hiding the way she always breathes in when he pulls her toward him, because he smells like something familiar and new. And Luca? He is watching her watch him.

He doesn't hide. Not the smile on his face and not the flush in his cheek, not the way his hand is comfortably resting on her hip or the way his breathing is just a tiny bit quicker than normal. He isn't hiding at all. Hotaru narrows her eyes at him and he twirls her outwards, pulls her in until she meets him beat by beat.

"Why are you frowning at me?," Luca asks, sounding just a tad bit worried.

"I'm not," Hotaru says. "This is my neutral face."

"Oh? What does a guy have to do to see your happy face?"

She contemplates his question, all the while noticing the way his hand on her back pulls her closer. If he moves his head just a little, his lips will reach the side of her face. If he draws her towards him again, her leg will be pressed against his. There's about an hour left until her mission truly begins. People start and end wars in the span of an hour. It's plenty of time for a bit of extended fun - a bit of dancing, in private.

"I'm a simple girl," Hotaru answers him, her smile as close to coy as she's likely to get. "As long as a guy knows how to use his mouth for something other than talking and lets a lady finish, my happy face usually shows up."

He blushes bright red without once breaking eye contact. Hotaru tilts her head to the side, aware of the way her dark hair curls against her skin, aware of the way he glances down for a second to watch it. Come on, she thinks. I'm not going to get any more obvious than that.

Luca leans his head towards her. They're still dancing, never once missing a beat, but he's leading her towards the edge of the dancefloor now. Inside her own mind, Hotaru smiles.

"You know Angela-" she rolls her eyes at that- "the bathrooms here are pretty luxurious. Spacious, too. And with as many of them as there are, I'm sure no one will mind one that is...occupied."

"First floor?," she asks, risking one last glance at the hostess.

"First floor."

Hotaru gives him a curt nod before letting go of his hand. The absence of its warmth is almost...unpleasant. Then again, she has far better things to look forward to than just his hand.

With a small smirk on her lips, she starts to make her way upstairs, trusting that he will follow her discreetly, trusting that her cool allure has once again been enough.

A drink, a dance, a meeting in a bathroom - there are, Hotaru thinks, worse ways to spend your evening.

* * *

There is no need for awkward fumbling once she enters the first floor bathroom, and Hotaru is thankful for that. It seems as though they are both here for the same reason: A good, quick make-out session, no strings attached. It's a moment they can share even though she is an operative, a moment they can share because she is no longer the nervous teenager whose lives and resources are controlled by her crew. She is an adult.

And because Hotaru is an adult, she leaves behind both questions and feelings, locks the door behind her and has her lips pressed to Luca's in the span of a few seconds. To his credit, he reacts well: using one arm, he hoists her upwards, making a satisfied sound at the back of his throat when she wraps her legs tightly around his waist. The enormous vase decorating the bathroom sways dangerously as they half crash, half consciously navigate into the counter.

"So," he breathes, breaking their kiss for a second, "what do I have to do again to see that happy face?"

Hotaru raises her brow.

"I expect my partners to memorize my every word. See it as a test of your intelligence."

Luca adjusts his grip, the smile never leaving his lips.

"Let's see if I can get a perfect score then."

His mouth is on hers again and she grabs his shirt, caring little whether the fabric will tear, pressing closer and closer and pulling his lip into her mouth. Her fingers reach for his tie to tug him towards her. It's a little violent, perhaps. Luca doesn't seem to mind.

"How am I doing?," he mutters against her mouth and Hotaru just kisses him back harder, blood pumping in her ears. His lips are soft against hers but curiously unyielding, and she opens her mouth to breathe in every bit of air he lets her have.

He smells like coffee and something else she can't register, because right then the hand holding her up is trailing down her side, lower, and ever lower, grazing the hem of her dress without once touching her skin. It drives her mad enough to plant her legs back on the ground and pull away, frowning at him before cupping his head with her hand and pulling his mouth towards her once more.

Who's leading the dance now, she wants to ask, but he's kissing her neck, his breath a hot tingle against her skin, and god, if he leaves a hickey she might actually have to kill him, but then again it'll have to wait because she's already tugging at his belt.

Except.

Except-

She pauses when her fingers come into contact with cold metal, and although her brain hasn't quite caught up yet, her muscles act on instinct, pushing him off her and reaching down to pull out her gun

He does the same thing and there they are, lips red and cheeks flushed and pointing their firearms at each other as though this is the next step in a familiar game, played by dozens upon dozens of couples since the dawn of time.

She's frowning and he's laughing, eyes never leaving her face.

He's got a good stance, both hands around the gun as he leans comfortably against the sink. Hotaru allows herself a second glance at his weapon. It's a Walther PPKS .380 - the kind of gun you can easily hide, the kind of gun you use when your enemies are already too close to escape you.

"Always pull your gun on unsuspecting dates, Miss?"

"You hardly seem unsuspecting"

Hotaru doesn't want to blow her operation - because it is an operation, of course it is - and he doesn't seem to want to let her leave, so she cocks her gun and rolls her eyes, making sure her dress is untangled from her legs so she can kick him in the face. Luca evades, because of course he does.

"Now, now, Bridget. No need to get violent," he says, his gun firmly pointed at her. He is _still_ smiling. She _still_ wants to kick his face in.

"If you're here to sabotage me in any way," Hotaru grinds out, "then you should know that I'll kill you and use your skin as a rug. No, as a doormat. You don't even deserve rug status."

"Man. And I thought what we had was special."

"Who do you work for?," Hotaru demands impatiently. She doesn't have to glance at her watch to know that she is too short on time to leave a corpse in the hostess' bathroom. (Not that she doesn't want to.)

Luca opens his mouth to answer but approaching footsteps outside make him pause. They both listen in breathless silence, their guns still out in front of them.

Just when Hotaru is about to focus her attention on Luca again, the softest sound makes her instincts kick back in. It's the click of a gun being loaded on the other side of the door, the subtlest hint of danger and then Luca is pushing her out of range before she has a chance to do so herself.

 _Freaking gentleman_ , Hotaru thinks, while the bathroom door behind them is unceremoniously torn apart by bullets.

As the world explodes into splintered wood, all Hotaru can think about is that lying under her bar encounter's lean body sure involved less clothing in her mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**_i don't want to die (but i quite like heaven) pt. 2_**

* * *

The firing of a gun is a simple process.

You pull the trigger. The firing pin is released. It strikes the primer of the cartridge. The primer ignites the gunpowder. The gunpowder burns. The expanding gases push the bullet down the gun barrel. The empty bullet casing is ejected from the gun. A new round of ammunition is supplied by the recoil spring. Rinse and repeat.

The firing of a gun is an emotional hurdle.

You fear the destruction your bullet can cause. You fear the recoil, the way it almost seems to judge your previous actions. You wonder whether the anger in your stomach truly gives you the right to point, aim and shoot and you wonder whether you have the time to wonder anything at all. You think of all the human lives your action might destroy. You think and you think and you fire and you fear.

The firing of a gun is part of Hotaru Imai's job.

* * *

When the bullets grant her precious seconds of peace, Hotaru rolls away from Luca, bracing herself on the floor with one hand to slide away from the shredded door. There are less bullets flying at them now, perhaps because their attackers think them dead, perhaps because they're out of ammunition. For the latter to be true, they'd have to be fighting inexperienced shooters, wasteful shooters, badly equipped shooters.

Hotaru doesn't have the time to calculate the amount of ammunition that just shot through the door, but she does know a few things:

Number one: Her bar encounter Luca is on the other side of the bathroom, taking cover. He is saying something she can't hear because the ringing in her ears is drowning out everything else.

Number two: There were a lot of bodyguards attending the ball. If they're not reacting to the obvious shooters in the building they are either a) dead or b) the shooters.

Number three: If a) is true, then their attackers are highly trained and well armed, since they just took out a small armada of men. If b) is true, then their attackers are highly trained and well armed, since their employers like it that way.

The situation is highly unfavorable. Usually, Hotaru stares at highly unfavorable situations until they cower in fear and leave, oftentimes chased away by her inventions.

This time however...She has to admit, she's fresh out of nifty gadgets. Aside from her gun, a few knives, a pair of poisonous earrings, an exploding necklace, razor sharp high heels and her mind, of course.

Oh, and Luca's still around too.

"We attack when they stop shooting," Hotaru yells.

He moves his lips. The ringing is still present, so Hotaru chooses to interpret his answer as "Yes" and move on. People usually either agree with her or are too slow to come up with a counterargument to her plan. So when the door stops raining wood on them, she raises her hand and counts down from three.

One.

Rip your dress for maximum movement, grab your necklace, point at it to symbolize your plan.

Two.

Check if you're safe, activate your necklace, get moving.

Three.

Trust the stranger you just kissed like some horny teenager to have your back in a gunfight, throw your necklace through the broken door, duck.

Her necklace does beautifully. Hotaru has never used it in a fight before although it was technically made for one. It's part of Mikan's collection - inventions that pack a punch without causing too much destruction. It's perfect for knocking out people close to you without knocking out yourself.

As she waits for the smoke to clear, Luca pops up next to her like weed breaking through concrete.

"That was brilliant," he whispers, eyes firmly focussed on the remnants of the door. " _You're_ brilliant. Oh my god. Do you have more of those things?"

"Yes, I'm brilliant. No, I don't."

She shoots him a glare over her shoulder and he stares at her with wide, almost innocent eyes. How exactly he manages to do that while sitting in a destroyed bathroom, holding a gun, Hotaru doesn't know.

"Don't think I've forgotten about our conversation. As soon as these guys are dealt with, I'm moving on to you. The only reason I haven't done so already is the fact that two guns will take care of things faster than just one. And, given that you haven't actually shot at me yet, those lovely people outside are my number one priority. Understood?"

He puts both hands up in a placating gesture.

"Absolutely. We deal with them, you deal with me, we finish our jobs and go our separate ways. Unless we just happen to meet in a bathroom somewhere, which could always happen. There's bathrooms everywhere."

The joke almost makes her smile, and Hotaru could hit herself in the face for that.

"Trust me," Hotaru assures him, careful to keep her voice down. "Once this is done you'll never see me again. Because you'll be dead and buried."

Behind the wall of smoke, someone coughs and moans. Growing alert, Hotaru shifts forward, freezing when Luca's fingers land on her shoulder to stop her.

"What?," she hisses at him, squinting to make out human shapes behind the door.

"It's just...Do you have a NKP?," Luca asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"What is that?"

"Oh, a No Kill Policy. I figured we'll follow your rules, since you like to lead and all and I'm nice enough to follow."

Hotaru decides to ignore the latter part of his comment. No Kill Policies are a curious thing her current crew has never cared much about. Why they exist in the first place, Hotaru doesn't know.

Perhaps the goal is to ease the conscience of the operatives, to make them think that maiming and kidnapping and stealing is morally fine so long as no one stops breathing. And maybe there _is_ another way for them to do their job - maybe there is another world where she doesn't always have a bit of blood on her hands, and a bit of rage in her gut, where she doesn't kill the men who threaten her.

This is not that world.

"If it's kill or be killed...I prefer coming out on top. No excessive cruelty, though. I'm a goddamn lady."

"Good to know we're once again on the same page, Fiona. Bad Martinis, bathroom sex, killing our enemies. We're basically couple material."

And once again, Hotaru doesn't allow herself even the smallest quirk of her lips before starting to move.

It's a risk, of course: She has no idea who Luca is, who he works for, what he came to the ball to do. For all she knows, he could shoot her in the back and side with her newest group of enemies. Trusting him not to is an unpleasant feeling - like sticking her arm in a murky pond and hoping for a treasure instead of piranhas. Given that the alternative is jumping into said pond head first, potentially losing her arm seems like a calculated risk.

She kicks the door in, using the momentum to bash her gun into the side of one man's face. He groans and slumps to the ground, clearly unconscious. Hotaru flinches when a bullet narrowly misses her ear and catches a different guard in the chest. He dies a quick death, wide eyed and standing up. The gun he almost shot her with is still in his outstretched hands as he falls to the ground. Hotaru doesn't have the time to celebrate the fact that her calculated risk is paying off.

With her gun out and her back to the wall, she tries to discern whether anyone else is moving. When no one is, she pauses.

"Something's not right here," Luca comments from behind her. She has to agree.

All in all, there are six attackers scattered in front of the bathroom door. Four got taken out by the explosion, two just now. Given the amount of shots fired, Hotaru expected a commotion, but the venue is dead silent. No one else is trying to attack them and from what she can tell, the rest of the ball room is intact - No broken doors, no dead bodies.

Still, the music has stopped and so has the talking. Hotaru doesn't want to question how she didn't notice that before. There is no excuse for getting distracted on a mission. She bites down on her lip in anger.

"Hey Bridget, come look at this."

When she turns around, Luca is kneeling next to one of the men. He has the guy's wrist in his hand, turning it one way, then another with a frown on his face. She sidesteps a collapsed guard to join him. When she sees what Luca is looking at, Hotaru curses under her breath. There, on the man's wrist, is a tiny black star.

"Those guys are Academy goons," says in realization.

"You know the Academy?" He seems surprised.

A strange reaction, given that the Academy has been slowly gaining in popularity ever since they came out of the shadows a few years back. As far as crews go, Hotaru considers them the worst. It's one thing to be greedy, to kill, to steal. All operatives do that. The Academy is different because they don't just want their fair share of the cake. They want the entire thing and the cook who made it, and every version of the recipe.

And if you ever happen to see the recipe with your own eyes, good luck keeping those inside their sockets. Chances are, you won't.

"They've sabotaged a couple of our operations before," Hotaru answers.

"These guys are dangerous. Corporate." Luca shakes his head. "Don't have to tell you that I guess."

So their enemies belong to a giant crew with an awful lot of money. No biggie, Hotaru thinks. I love being tortured for information and killed. This is great.

They take their enemies weapons and move on. When they crouch behind the marble railing separating the first floor and the ground level, the eery silence of the ballroom becomes clear. Where the guests previously danced and shoved pastries down their throats, they are now kneeling with guns to their heads. Some bodyguards are lying around, seemingly dead. Luca spots them just as she does.

"I guess those were the loyal ones," he whispers.

From what she can tell, around twenty guards have their guns out and are haphazardly pacing the length of the ballroom. They're alert, of course they are, but the way they move seems idle, as though the real event of the evening hasn't even started yet. As if they're waiting for someone else to arrive.

"How come we didn't hear those guards get taken out?," Luca asks her.

 _Probably because we were busy trying to undress each other_ , is the answer Hotaru almost gives him.

"I'm guessing they started shooting them the same time they started shooting us. Take out all hostiles in one go."

"Still doesn't explain how they knew we were hostiles," he comments.

That's true, and it's something Hotaru ponders while she counts the hostages beneath them. Why is the Academy here? Why are they being so glaringly obvious about their actions? Why take multiple high-level hostages at a public event, risking public exposure?

And why, oh why, have they seemingly given up on trying to kill her?

The hostess is among the hostages, her diamond earrings still on her ears. She's speaking, her eyes furious. The guard next to her sends her a tired glare before slamming his gun into her head. She faints or dies or at the very least falls down, blood running down her face like tears.

Next to Hotaru, Luca's eyes narrow.

"We need to free those hostages."

She opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off.

"Don't tell me you're only here for your mission, nothing else. Guess what: So am I. And my mission happens to involve the dear Lady Michelle. I can't let those guys kill her."

"Why not?," she asks.

"Because I'm meant to do that, of course."

That shouldn't be a shocking thing to hear, but it seems wrong coming out of his mouth. Subconsciously, Hotaru grips her weapon a little bit tighter.

"You don't look like an assassin," she tells him.

"Oh? Why, am I too pretty?"

If not for the dozens of guards trying to kill them, she would have shot him then and there.

"All the assassins I've known were smart enough not to cross me. Yet here you are, annoying me in twenty different ways while not moving a muscle."

He looks offended.

"Personally," he says, "I think you're just saying that because you're stressed about those people shooting at us and are attempting to project those negative emotions onto me, to protect your own appreciation for your job."

Maybe she should just shoot him anyway. Maybe dying afterwards would be worth it.

"Personally, I think you should shut up and hey look, I managed to convey that opinion in less than three hundred words!," she tells him.

Luca mumbles something under his breath, and turns back to the ballroom.

"What was that?," Hotaru asks sharply.

"I said: How about we just come up with a plan to save those hostages?"

"Sure! You can do that, if you want, since you're the one trying to save them. I'll be up here, watching you die."

"You're harsh."

"And you're pissy."

"People tell me I'm nice and considerate, thank you very much."

"You literally just stole a gun from a dead person," Hotaru points out.

That shuts him up.

As annoying as it is to come up with a way to save the hostages, Hotaru can't help but want to try. She also can't help but wonder why exactly her current partner in crime seems so hell-bent on making her believe he wants to save Lady Michelle to kill her himself. After all, for assassins, the rule is simple: Death is death. There is no way they'd risk their life to finish a job someone else is currently finishing for them. Somehow, she is sure of it: Luca wants to save the hostages out of some strange sense of kindness.

Perhaps that's what "nice and considerate" looks like.

The half formed plan in her head is interrupted when the main doors open and a figure strolls in. Hotaru's damn glad about those vision enhancing contacts she built years ago. It lets her watch in great detail as her crew's boss walks in, a stranger by his side. He's gesturing wildly, no hint of discomfort on his face. It's as though this entire thing is utterly unsurprising to walk into. On his hand is a freshly tattooed black star, the flesh still red and irritated. She tries to keep the shock from showing on her face but she must be failing, because Luca leans over.

"Who is that?," he asks her.

"It's...That's Reo Mouri. I guess you could say he's my boss."

Luca shoots her a glance that is almost concerned but remains silent.

The warmth of his arm brushing against hers can't chase away the ice that's settling over her heart, and she briefly asks herself why she expected it would. This is all expectations lead to: Anger and pain and betrayal. A good mercenary would have known that crews sell themselves to the highest bidder if the price is right. A watchful woman would have seen the signs a long time ago. It seems she is neither.

Beneath them, the stranger accompanying Reo - a brunette woman wearing an almost gleeful expression - has reached the center of the ballroom.

"Are we just about ready to play, boys?"

Her voice rings out loud and clear. The guards nod. They seem to back away whenever she comes close to one of them, as though they're afraid of her touch.

"Alright then." The woman laughs. "Because I have a woman to kill. Reo?"

Hotaru's boss rushes to her side.

"Yes, Miss Koizumi?"

"Where is this operative of yours?"

"She is bound to be here somewhere. I was told she's been chased out of her hideout, as you requested. I'm sure she can hear every word we're saying."

"Good," the woman - Koizumi - says. Her icy eyes wander the venue, clearly looking for something, clearly looking for Hotaru.

"You know how this works, girl," she calls out. "The Academy and your crew are one now. Your position at Z is no more. Or rather: It's my position now. But since Z has been so forthcoming about us acquiring it, we let them keep their rules: So if we want a certain member to leave, if we want to replace it, we have to proof we're up to the task. So how about it, _girl_ -" she drawls out the word as though it's an insult "- You willing to fight for your job?"

Silence hangs over the room like a shroud. Hotaru closes her eyes. Her hand is gripping her gun so tightly that her knuckles have turned white. She has always hated her crew's rules. Kill or be killed, fight or you're out. She always thought no one could possibly think to replace her - inventors are a rare good - but apparently the Academy has no need for her presence. Apparently, they see her as a threat.

It occurs to her, quite suddenly, what this is: A display of power, plain and simple, like a child hitting an insect with a rock. It's the Academy showing of its newest toy and telling the world what it is capable of: Attacking in broad daylight, kidnapping, killing. And it's also the Academy telling all other crews who's boss: They can buy almost everyone and make operatives turn on their own. If a crew will stand by and watch as someone as valuable as Hotaru is killed, then no one is safe.

"What do we do now?"

Hotaru turns to her side, where Luca is still sitting. She ponders his question for a while.

"Now you leave," she says eventually. "Now you go back to whoever pays you and stay out of this. These guys are here to put on a display and kill me, they probably don't even know who you are. And Koizumi's right, these are my crew's rules: If she wants to replace me, she needs to kill me. If I want to stay alive, I need to survive. It's the simplest game of all."

"What about the hostages?," Luca implores her. "What about _you_?"

Hotaru shrugs, stoicism the only thing showing on her face now, although it hasn't made its way to her heart just yet.

"This is probably my only shot to get out of this alive. My crew knows all my hideouts, my strategies, they know _me_. The Academy wants to take me out. At least Z is loyal enough to give me one final chance."

"Are you telling me that this is what loyalty looks like in your crew? Them letting you fight to your death?"

A sliver of defensiveness rise up in her throat.

"Maybe my crew trusts me to survive."

"Or maybe your crew is careless with your life. Maybe you're a dime a dozen to them. Maybe-"

"Shut up."

Luca does. With as loudly as they're arguing, the guards have probably pinpointed their location by now. They're running out of time, yet here he is, trying to stop her from being the ideal distraction, trying to keep her around. Luca hesitates for a moment, before reaching out and putting his hand on her shoulder. There's an aching bruise from the fight right where he's touching her. Still, she doesn't complain.

"Look...This isn't just your fight anymore," he says. "I'm here to help."

"I don't want your help."

You've been nothing but a distraction all night, Hotaru thinks. I had your back in that bathroom and I don't even know you. I _killed_ people to protect you. What is this? Who are you? Who am I, without this crew? How come a stranger will stand by me when they won't?

She doesn't tell him, but as he looks at her, covered in scraps, bloody, his fingers dusty with gunpowder, looking so keenly concerned, so focused on her, she finds herself giving in.

Is this kindness then? To remain pure when you're covered in blood?

Hotaru doesn't know.

"At least let me be the distraction," she says. "We'll shoot a couple of the guards, I'll inevitably be captured, you get those hostages to safety while I fight Koizumi. Reo won't interfere in the fight, not if he still follows Z's rules. He'll let you leave."

"No," he shakes his head. "Absolutely not. There's another way, I'm sure. There's more than twenty people down there. Even if we take out a few from up above, you're outnumbered."

"I told you, if they're from my crew they won't interfere."

"Still-"

"Look," she covers his hand on her shoulder with her own. It startles him and he quiets down immediately.

"This is our best shot. I'm out of explosives and we're out of time. Do you have comms? Are they working?"

He shakes his head. "At first I thought my comm system was broken, but now I'm guessing the Academy is actively blocking me."

Despite the danger she's in, Hotaru feels a bit better. At least her invention was brilliant enough not to fail. She might have no one left to call, but her brain is still the best damn weapon in the room.

"Alright," she says, planning as she speaks. "Is your crew going to come for you if you go radio silent? Even with the danger?"

"Not if they're smart," Luca says.

"Are they?"

He smiles as he looks at her through lowered lashes.

"Absolutely not."

It's the second risky factor she'll have to bet on tonight: An unknown guy working for an unknown crew and the unknown crew itself. It's like doing trust falls in high school all over again, Hotaru thinks dryly.

* * *

For what it's worth, part one of their plan goes off without a hitch. They crawl closer to the staircase and, as silently and quickly as possible, shoot a couple of guards downstairs. They don't have a sniper gun and it shows, but they do hit four men before ten others start to make their way up the stairs, ready to grab them. Hotaru motions for Luca to hide. He pockets his gun, getting ready to move. He's already turned away from her when he halts and looks at her one final time. Before she can react, his fingers are stroking the side of her face and he is kissing her, half gentle, half passionate. It's brief and it's desperate; it tastes like a fight waiting to happen.

"I had fun in that bathroom," he murmurs against her lips. "So you better not die down there, Hotaru Imai."

Before she can chastise him for distracting her in the middle of a fight, before she can ask how he came to know her name, before she can kiss him back he is gone, a shadow managing to hide in the bright, open space of the ball room.

The guards reach her and, with their hands on her bare shoulders, drag her down the stairs. The harshness of their touch is all the more vivid compared to the warm hands she felt before.

Reo's eyes follow her as she makes her way down the stairs. He doesn't seem concerned, only a bit sad at seeing his investment - because that is all Hotaru is - be handled this roughly.

As for Koizumi, she is watching with a kind of detached interest as Hotaru lets herself be thrown to the ground in front of her. It's like she's a snake watching her prey scramble, knowing for certain her poison will be enough to win the fight. What Koizumi doesn't know, Hotaru thinks, is that she's not the only one with poison.

The other woman is wearing a blazer and dark pants. She looks a bit as though this is a business meeting, as though she will kill Hotaru and then go somewhere else to handle taxes, holding a glass of red wine in her hand the whole time. She doesn't seem to be one for small talk. It's a good thing Hotaru isn't either.

With a deep breath, she kicks the older woman away as hard as she can and gets up. Her gun may have been taken by the guards, but Hotaru Imai always stands ready to fight. Her poisonous earring is hidden in the palm of her hand.

"Let's finish this," she says. Koizumi throws her head back and laughs. The sound is a mixture of emotionless and insane. There's a rip in her pants and a trickle of blood running down her pale legs.

"Let's," she agrees, before attacking.

At least, Hotaru thinks in between punches and kicks, her plan seems to be working. Because as she combat rolls further and further away from the hostages, lashing out with her earring as she does, the guards are trailing behind them, watching the fight with sick fascination, always ready to jump in and take her out. They won't let her win, she knows that. But she needs them to think of her as the only danger in the room. She needs them to think that her partner has left, following mercenary protocol to the T.

As the guards' eyes are fixed on Hotaru, Luca creeps down the stairs. The only person who spots him is Reo, but he remains motionless. Apparently, the "no interference" rule of their crew still has meaning to him, even when interfering with Luca wouldn't directly affect the outcome of Hotaru's fight.

Trusting Luca to take out his enemies quietly and handle the hostages, she concentrates on her fight.

Koizumi may be more experienced, but she is also slower. Hotaru has always been all about technique, about predicting her opponent's movements. She has always been about having the upper hand. As long as she can get close enough to the other woman to use her earring, she'll be fine. Of course in this fight, Hotaru also has to draw the entire thing out for the hostages to leave, but she'll just have to deal with that in typical Hotaru Imai fashion: Brilliantly.

At some point, there's a struggle going on in the corner of her eye, but Hotaru doesn't pause to focus on it. She ducks under one of Koizumi's punches, feints to the right before stabbing at her opponent with her heel. Her foot catches her in the leg but Koizumi doesn't stumble.

Charging forward, the Academy operative tackles Hotaru and throws her to the ground. Hotaru's head crashes into the cold floor with a sickening crunch and stars start dancing in front of her closed eyelids as Koizumi's hands close around her throat, half clawing, half choking. She fumbles for the earring and brings it down hard, stabbing into Koizumi's hand. The woman jerks away as if burned, rolling off of Hotaru and crawling away.

It takes Hotaru a few moments to shake off the dizziness, but gladly her poison buys her the necessary time. As she backs away a few meters, she can see three guards on the ground close to the dance floor. The hostages are gone.

"Ma'am-," one of the remaining guards calls out, interrupting the fight. "The hostages."

Koizumi throws a look over her shoulder, baring her teeth in anger as she spots Luca's handiwork.

"None of you guys saw that coming?," she yells. "None of you?!"

The guards look down. From the way they're acting, it almost feels as though Koizumi is a goddess. Having fought her, Hotaru can tell her fighting ability is good but nothing outstanding. Whatever it is that makes her so terrifying, it has nothing to do with punches and kicks.

Koizumi looks at Reo, face poisonous (and poisoned, Hotaru thinks triumphantly.)

"I allowed you this fight, but my graciousness has limits. Why didn't you stop whoever took those hostages?"

"Our crew's rule say-"

"Fuck your rules," Koizumi interrupts. She inclines her head in Reo's direction. "Show him how we feel about failures, hm boys?"

Hotaru looks away as her former boss' head is shattered by a bullet.

The grief she feels is quick and sharp and hollow. Z has always been cold towards her, Reo had always been a thorn in her side. But he was the first person to offer her a job, even if he used that job to mock her inventions and her friendships and her gender. She always saw him as a rat, dirty and ruthless, living off others.

Perhaps a rat's death is what he got in the end.

"Now, where were we," Koizumi drawls. One of the guards throws her his gun and she catches it with ease, even though the poison must make it hard for her to stay on her feet. Then again, she doesn't need command over her own body to defeat Hotaru. With Reo gone, the Academy's regard for Z has been revealed: They don't care about their rules or about being accommodating. Not when caring proves to be too difficult. The quick and deadly way Koizumi changed her mind is dangerous, Hotaru knows that. It makes the situation a lot more unpredictable than she realized.

"You know, you should give up," Koizumi says. "You took the hostages before we took the hostages' money. Wohoo, you're great! But that doesn't mean you're not still outnumbered. So I hope that small act of kindness buys you a ticket to heaven because you're not likely to go anywhere else tonight.

Briefly, the older woman closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath, clearly trying to shake off the effects of the poison. Good luck trying, Hotaru thinks. She may have only stabbed the other operative's hands once, but her invention still worked. Koizumi will need either a hospital or a coffin. Then again, if she wraps this up quickly, neither one of those things will be a problem.

The other woman seems to realize that, because she points her gun at Hotaru, ready to shoot. The guards follow her example.

"Bye, bye, Hotaru Imai," Koizumi says.

Hotaru closes her eyes. Is this it then? She dies alone, because she tried to steal some diamonds? She dies alone, because she tried to save innocent people? It almost makes her laugh. How strange that this is how it should end.

Hotaru opens her eyes to look at Koizumi.

"I guess killing me is the only way to ensure you're the most brilliant person in the room," she mocks. "So go ahead."

Just as Koizumi is about to comply, her face read with anger, shots rings out. Three of the remaining guards fall. Koizumi swerves around.

"What's that, Imai? Your boyfriend coming to save you?"

"Try best friend, you cow," a clear voice rings out. Then Mikan Sakura appears behind Koizumi and with eyes as hard as steel, shoots her in the back.

Everything that happens afterwards is a bit of a blur. A dark haired guy Hotaru is regrettably familiar with drops down from the first floor to kick the last remaining guard in the face. Luca appears at her side, his hand at her elbow, to pull Hotaru to her feet. Before she can ask a single question, he's dragged her outside, where a car is waiting for them. Mikan slips in behind them, followed closely by Natsume Hyuuga, The Black freaking, best friend stealing, pyromaniac Cat.

"Drive," Hyuuga orders. "The cops are already all over the city. We don't have time."

And drive they do, past a group of unscathed former hostages, who are watching them with an expression usually reserved for everyone but a bunch mercenaries: Gratitude.

* * *

On the ride back, Hotaru learns a few things: She learns that Luca is a member of the Black Cat's crew, a member she never found out about during her research because lying low his part of his job. She learns that he has known her identity all along, because Mikan can't keep her mouth shut or her childhood pictures from the two of them away from curious eyes. She learns that Luca was there to stage the hostess' death and help her disappear from her abusive family, not bring said death about. She learns her bar encounter has a healer's hands, when he traces the wound on her head with silent worry.

Hotaru doesn't know how to react to any of the things she's learned. But as she holds her best friend's hand in her own, she thinks that might be ok.

She's too tired to even sneer when they arrive at Mikan's new home. The Black Cat's crew lives in an apartment building made from red brickstone, a golden number 2B messily hammered into the wall above the door. The rooms look like they haven't been renovated since the fifties, there's a smell of burned popcorn in the air and Hotaru is pretty sure someone left their dirty socks on the couch.

She falls in love with it immediately.

The very next day, after signing a contract with Natsume Hyuuga's crew, Hotaru find herself standing on apartment 2B's balcony, looking out over the city. She doesn't react when Mikan appears at her side.

"How are you feeling?," her best friend asks. She doesn't hide her worry, she never does. Hotaru sighs.

"Is there a word for angry, a bit of betrayed but also smug because damn, I always knew those guys were bad news?"

"Hm…," Mikan ponders for a while. "Angraymug? Besmugry? Sman-"

"Ok," Hotaru interrupts her. "Thanks for your input."

Mikan laughs. Her eyes seem almost golden in the light of the sun and she looks happy in a way Hotaru has never seen her look before. It makes all the fighting of the night before seem worth it.

"You know…," Hotaru begins. "You know, I never stayed behind because I wanted to get away from you, right?"

Mikan nods.

"And you know I never left because I wanted us to part, right?"

It's Hotaru's turn to nod now. She's grateful to see that her best friend understands.

"I let you go because we don't need to be in the same place all the time. I wanted to show you that...we're forever. Fuck whatever distance the world puts between us, right?"

"Right," Mikan agrees. She rests her head on Hotaru's shoulder and for a while, the two women stay silent. Then Hotaru frowns.

"Did you come out here to check on me?"

"Oh!," Mikan exclaims, her head coming back up. "No, actually I came to talk to you about your cleaning duties."

Hotaru's purple eyes narrow as Mikan's grin transforms from exuberant to apologizing.

"My what?"

"Your cleaning duties," her best friend explains. "While you're on your probation period, you're in charge of the bathrooms and well, they're starting to get a bit disgusting, so…"

"You can't be serious," Hotaru says, pushing away from the balcony railing.

"I am."

"Mikan Sakura, I swear to god-"

"Oh come on, you have an invention for that, right?"

Hotaru grimaces when she remembers her small, perfectly engineered masterpieces.

"Yes, one I get to rebuild from scratch because Z has my workshop."

"Ah, true," Mikan concedes. "Well, see it this way: You now get to live the life of a regular human being for a bit. Who knows, might be exciting!"

"I doubt it."

"Ho-Ta-Ru, you have to be more optimistic."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No."

And that is how Hotaru ends up in the bathroom next to a bunch of cleaning supplies. The life of an operative truly is glamorous.

Just as she's about to put on her gloves and start scrubbing, the door creaks and opens behind her. Luca peeks in.

"Cleaning duty?," he asks. She nods.

"You know…," Hotaru says. "I bet I'm concussed from yesterday or something. Wanna do my work for me?"

He laughs. "Not a chance. Besides, I checked you over and you're medically fine."

Hotaru almost pouts. "Aren't you looking to make your newest member feel more comfortable? To make a girl happy?"

"Hm…," he thinks out loud. "I _am_ a nice and considerate guy, it's true."

With a smile, Luca closes the door behind him and joins her in the bathroom. He bends down to pick up the supplies, before pausing, shooting her a mischievous glance and dropping them in the shower.

"You know, I met this girl yesterday who told me she's most happy when a guy 'knows how to use his mouth for something other than talking and lets a lady finish'."

Hotaru leans over in fake interest.

"Oh really?"

Luca takes a step and then another, until he is close enough to place his hands on her hips.

"Really," he says.

They kiss, slowly and languidly, and Hotaru can't say she misses the gun on her leg or the danger all around them.

"I told you there were bathrooms everywhere," he whispers.

And like before, when they were in the middle of a small war, Hotaru feels a rush of giddy, teenage-like happiness at his joking remarks.

Only this time, she let's herself smile.

* * *

 **-fin-**

* * *

 _ **A/N:** I'm quite happy to have finished this twoshot! Huge thanks to anyone who decided to come by and read it and a special shoutout to everyone who reviewed. I'll probably write a few more stories in this universe, so if you like it check out those when I publish them :D Hope you guys have a great week!_

 _Guest: A very valid question! The easy answer is: Luca already knew about Hotaru's identity as an operative, so even if he had felt the gun, it would have made no difference. I don't think he did though, mostly because Hotaru would keep it strapped to the outside of her leg. Wearing it on the inside (aka the part Luca would have felt) would decrease her mobility. Hope that makes sense :)_


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